


Bring you back, with every piece of you

by brittlestars



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, alcohol as a prescription for emotional constipation, foggy nelson could have been a butcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlestars/pseuds/brittlestars
Summary: The dark silhouette at Karen's windowshill shifts his weight, tension in every muscle. The Devil came when they called, and He has their friend's face.Foggy is the first to break the silence. "Yea. Yea, buddy. Nelson & Murdock need to have a talk. Or, rather, Nelson, Murdock & Page."They are going to fix this rift in their friendships, Devil be damned.An alternate resolution to Nelson v Murdock fallout wherein Karen finds out much sooner.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Daredevil Bingo





	Bring you back, with every piece of you

Karen is continually surprised by how much of his heart Foggy will bare under the effects of alcohol. Foggy has always been a fantastic storyteller, sober or drunk. He'll tell anyone who will listen that he has "a way with words, a gift of gab." With alcohol the stories become more private, more emotional. 

Right now Foggy and Matt are having some horrifically big fight. Foggy, usually an early bird, has been arriving to the office later and later in the day, and Matt's hours are spotty at best. Karen is the de facto go-between: Foggy asks her to type up memos for Matt on matters that could be easily settled in a quick conversation; Matt implies he won't act on a plan without Foggy's input while simultaneously refusing to talk to Foggy himself. 

When Karen confronts Foggy, he refuses to explain, shutting conversation down with a thin excuse. So long as she avoids talking about Matt, Foggy's attitude snaps back to friendly and open. He'll agree to go out for a quick lunch or dinner, for example, and fill the time with ridiculous stories of his youth in Hell's Kitchen. But Karen has noticed that the stories, as funny as they always are, never fall outside safe emotional boundaries. They're softened by the distance of time, untouched by the real and raw of the problems he's ignoring today.

Foggy won't ever be around her while drunk anymore. It's increasingly common for him to leave the office - now half-empty without Matt - and go off to drink on his own, but he never has more than a few beers in her company before he dismisses himself. 

Karen wonders if she's watching another black hole collapse in slow-motion, their firm and their friendships washed away under a wave of alcohol and stonewalled guilt. It's not like they're getting any legal work done; Matt will hardly say two words even when he bothers to show his face. The roundabout conversations, if they can be called that, are infuriating, and meanwhile Fisk's new plan for the neighborhood is taking off.

The sun is shining when Matt finally - finally - loops her in. She's too shocked to articulate the size of her confusion, and he somehow takes that as a cue to leave. He leaves by jumping out the window. 

Karen locks up the office (but not the window) and rides the bus home in a daze. She climbs the stairs to her tiny apartment in a daze. She heats water for tea, forgets about the water. She doesn't hear the teakettle's scream. She scalds the bottom of the teapot. The sun sets. She calls Foggy. 

"Let's go out for drinks," Foggy interrupts, cutting her off as soon as she's uttered "Foggy, Matt told me."

"I'm not sure..." Karen demurs, startled by Foggy's cutting tone. 

"Fine. I'm coming over to you." As an afterthought: "Okay?"

"Yea," Karen says, then nods her head, more sure. "Okay."

"You want to invite Claire?"

"Who?"

"You know what, never mind. One thing at a time."

Foggy brings enough cheap liquor to kill the devil himself, setting down the brown paper bags on Karen's coffee table with more of a thud than a clink. It sounds like Karen's heart feels: heavy but somehow half-hollow. 

Foggy knocks back two drinks for every one of Karen's, and she's not exactly planning to talk about this sober. 

Soon Foggy is lubricated like she hasn't seen since before the big Nelson v Murdock fallout. Foggy's emotions begin to spill over right on cue, but Karen notices something she wasn't expecting. Since Matt's reveal, she'd assumed Foggy had avoided drinking with her because he was afraid he'd slip and betray Matt's secret. That was probably true, but it wasn't the whole story. 

She hadn't bargained for the explosion of raw emotion Foggy had been carrying around. 

Sure, Matt had kept lying to her after she'd been cleared of the murder - the murder she didn't commit, anyway - and sure, Foggy had been complicit in Matt's lies. Sure, Daredevil had saved Karen and that complicated her feelings about why she'd been hired by his civilian persona, and sure, there had been a budding, doomed fling at romance. She had reasons to be angry right now.

But Foggy and Matt had been each other's worlds for going on ten years. That was a lot for Foggy to process and, judging by the current outpouring, he had not been processing well on his own. 

"It's not -- it's not the big thing, y'know?" Neither of them has been able to say it aloud yet. "Not the big lie, the big omission. It's," Foggy grasps a weak, vague fist in the air in front of him, "It's the little stuff. The details."

Karen nods. "All the little things that never added up."

"And all the little lies he had to tell me. Us. Every day. About the smallest damn things. I look around my apartment and I realize that I have habits to accommodate him. I changed myself for him. And he never even needed it."

Karen narrows her eyes and Foggy carries on.

"He would thank me sometimes. Well, more like apologize, for me having to make the slightest effort at keeping our dorm room neat. Or, I dunno, letting him know I was thinking of moving the toaster to the other side of the counter."

"I just realized how he always knows when I've burnt the morning bagels."

"Even I can smell when you've burned the bagels, Kare. It doesn't take a super sniffer."

They both try for a chuckle, but it dies on Karen's lips and morphs into a beleaguered sigh from Foggy. 

"I used to narrate for him. Like, all the time: traffic lights, the professors' facial expressions, adventures of the campus squirrels, anything." 

Karen nods. Narrating was a habit she'd begun to pick up, though she doubted her descriptions would ever be as quick-witted as Foggy's, or as attentive. 

Foggy looks up from running his finger along the edge of his glass. Karen's eyes are steady and he finally looks away. "The worst part is, I miss it. I want to keep making up stupid narrations. I want to tease him that billboards are playing giant 3D videos of sharks and that his shirts were dyed neon colors in the wash or whatever." 

"You can."

"Not the same way. He'll.. I don't know, listen to my heart or some shit. It'll give away the joke."

"But you want it."

He nods, face colored in shame. "For the rest of my life, preferably. But I know I can't. I can't have that life back because I can't have that Matt back. If he ever existed in the first place. I think that's what I'm trying to tell you: don't expect to get back the Matt you thought you knew."

"Sometimes," now Karen is the one who can't keep eye contact. "Sometimes, people aren't who you think they are because the person they're showing you is the person they're trying to be. Like, if somebody else can believe that persona, can befriend that persona, then maybe the persona is someone they can actually become."

"You're saying he aspired to be someone who lied to his best friends every day?"

"I'm saying that he might believe Matt Murdock is someone worth striving to be."

"You sound like you're on his side in all this."

"There aren't sides, Foggy," she scolds, and realizes she believes it even as she says it. "There's just life."

"Fuck, I'm too drunk for this. I'm supposed to be consoling you after the big reveal, not the other way around."

"You could be friends again."

Foggy huffs, takes a swig from his glass. He grimaces to find it empty. "It's not the same."

"But it'll be more real," Karen ventures. "You're glad he told you, right?"

"First off: he didn't tell me. I found out." Karen cringes at Foggy's sigh, but he continues, "Look, you haven't seen his scars. Just wait 'til he shows up at your apartment, bleeding out. On a weekly basis. And then, when I try to get him to rest - not even to stop; he'll never stop - just to _rest_, the guilt washes over him double. Like he's guilty for what he does and now he's guilty for me trying to help him. Convincing him to let me help is like pulling teeth. I'm not equipped to handle this."

Karen sips her own drink when Foggy stumbles up to refill his glass with water. She licks her lips and then says, "I see why Matt needs a priest." 

Foggy pauses, still. Then he sits down at the kitchen table, needing a bit of distance from Karen for a moment. "Do you think his priest knows?" 

"Even if he does, confession isn't admissible testimony, right? So Matt's still safe."

And now Foggy feels even more like shit. Because he wasn't thinking about Matt's vulnerability to the law as a vigilante. He was just letting himself get mad that Matt had told Karen, had possibly confessed in church. Foggy is not satisfied being an afterthought in Matt's life.

"He's never going to be safe, Karen. And, by association, we're never going to be safe." Foggy looks up at her, holds her gaze steady despite the tremors in his fingers. He tells himself it's shakes from the alcohol. One more lie. "You can still leave, you know. Get out with your life intact."

Karen balks. "My life 'intact'? You two literally rescued me from jail. I was going to go to prison for the murder of my coworker."

Foggy gives a half-smile, wan but fond. "Of course that's the first case Hell's Kitchen would throw into our laps."

Now that Karen knows about Matt's abilities, she's quite certain her case didn't "fall into" Nelson & Murdock's lap, but that's beside the point. Instead, "My life didn't get complicated just because I moved to Hell's Kitchen. It's the world. The world isn't fair, or neat, or - or uncomplicated."

"Tell me about it." Foggy wishes he were in reach of the alcohol. He sips his water instead. "A giant alien spaceworm literally crashed into my old dorm a few years ago."

"So can you really blame Matt for not telling you? For wanting to keep the one best thing in his life untainted by insanity?"

"Yes," Foggy answers without hesitation, "Yes, I can blame him."

"Foggy..."

"I can but," he swallows. "I don't. Not anymore. I want to hate him for it, thought I hated him for it for a long time. But he's been through so much and he still keeps fighting and for some reason known only to God he still chose to befriend the soft hippie lawyer-wanna-be who was his college roommate."

"You are pretty great, Foggy." Karen's smile is warm. 

Foggy smiles back, then sighs. "What Matt claims he can do... It's not insanity. It feels strange to admit but it's not..." he stretches and clenches his fingers, trying to grasp something unknowable. "It explains so much, you know? He always seemed to know things, have this private little smile."

Karen nods. Both of them gaze into the middle distance, remembering. Eventually, Foggy coughs into his hand. "So, anyway. Welcome to the know, Ms. Page. I hope this helps you understand a lot of the little inconsistencies I'm sure you've seen."

"You two are not nearly as good at covering things up as you think you are."

Foggy hums, noncommittal. "Perhaps you're just very observant."

"Oh, I know I am."

"It--" Foggy begins. He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his face, then continues, "I wanted to tell you."

Karen stands from the couch, finally relinquishing the nearly-empty bottle of tequila to the coffee table. She moves to sit beside Foggy in the kitchen nook. Her face is conflicted, but after a moment she lays a gentle hand on his upper arm, stroking the starched shirtsleeve with her thumb. "Thank you, Foggy."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Foggy chuckles once, sour. Karen amends, "Fine. It's not okay, but it will be. I don't blame you for keeping his secret. Really."

Foggy's heart surges. He wants it to be okay sooner, rather than later. "I guess this means I should reach out to him."

"He reached out to me."

"Must be desperate," Foggy quips. 

Karen jabs him in the arm, playfully. "Boo! Low blow, Mr. Nelson."

"Objection sustained," Foggy admits easily, knowing Karen finds courtroom language in everyday conversations simultaneously overblown and amusing. Like a dad joke. 

"But really," Karen sobers, laying her hand over Foggy's on the table, "He's lost without you, Foggy. I don't think he would have told me his secret if he felt he could come to you right now."

"He can come to me. Always."

"Does he know that?"

"He'd better, after all we've been through together."

"So you think he's avoiding you because he wants to?"

"It's his choice!"

"Because Matt's clearly very capable of choosing things that are good for him."

"Tell me about it," Foggy mutters. 

"Guilt can drive a person away from help. He's breaking without you, Foggy. But he'd rather break himself than hurt you again." 

"The distance is what hurts. I'll get over the-- the big lie. The cover-up. But staying away hurts so damn bad." He slumps into his arms on the table.

They sit in silence, contemplating past hurts and the hangovers they're due. After almost an hour a police car siren starts up in the near distance, approaching, wailing, then fading off toward the hospital. Red, then blue, and then white lights up Karen's tiny apartment in stark flashes. Even when he hides behind closed eyes, Foggy can still see the ghost of bright-dark contrast.

There's a scraping sound as Karen pushes her chair back and stands. Foggy opens his eyes, bleary. "Don't," he begins. "Let's just wallow in misery for a bit, please?"

Karen shakes her head: no. "Our hangovers will be miserable enough. C'mon, Foggy. If Murdock won't fix this shit, we're gonna have to. You're supposed to be a handyman, right?"

"A butcher. I was supposed to be a butcher," he corrects. His next sentence is muffled as he turns his face back into his arms on the table, but might be "No drinking never ever again."

"Up!" Karen chides, tugging at his armpits. The cheap alcohol is rapidly degrading their coordination.

Foggy groans, leaning back in his chair. "It's--" he squints at his naked wrist, then at the digital display over the stovetop, "--four sixty one--" squint "--four sixteen A.M. on a Tuesday. A Tuesday, Kare."

"Wednesday, now." Karen tugs at him again. 

Foggy waves a hand, dismissive, but does stand. "Wednesday, whatever. It is far too tiny a time to fix our lives."

"We won't be saving the world tonight," Karen agrees, "but maybe we can fix the little things. I'm calling Matt."

Foggy groans, but when Matt -- Daredevil -- picks up on the first ring, he's already game. 

Karen fumbles for the speakerphone button in time for Foggy to hear Daredevil's voice grit out, "Karen? Are you okay?"

There is a desperate surge in Foggy's heart: a demanding roar from the part of him that needs to be on friendly speaking terms again, needs it like he needs air, needs sunshine. It's not a small part. "Matt!" Foggy greets, leaning to hover his face directly over Karen's cell on speakerphone. "Matty! I miss you. Come back. You and me and the Devil-man can hug it out."

Karen gasps, hand over her mouth. Foggy looks up at her. Oops. Maybe a tad too much volume. Or too much truth. Whatever. Thanks, tequila.

But now she's nodding and smiling at him, thumbs up. 

"Fogs?" The Devil's voice is rough.

"Yea, Matty, it's me. I miss your dumb, adorable face. You told Karen but you didn't tell me and we are gonna have words about that, mister. Right now."

There's a long pause. "Foggy, I..." That voice, trailing off? Definitely Matt's voice. The Devil would never be so unsure.

Foggy flaps his hand in the air. "I know, I know. You're sorry, you love me, you wish you'd told me sooner. Fine, whatever. Just say it to my face."

There's an even longer pause. "You're drunk, Fogs." It's firm, but tender. "You're in a safe place, right? Get some sleep."

That is a classic Matt dismissal but he can't let Matt hang up on him. "You told Karen!" Foggy shouts, accusing. 

"Hi, Matt," Karen says, voice small.

"Foggy, give Karen her phone back."

"Matt, we're not mad at you. Foggy's not mad at you, I don't blame you."

Foggy almost mutters 'speak for yourself' but catches himself. Matt would probably hear him. And besides, he finds that Karen's words are actually true. He's frustrated, yes. Scared, definitely. But his anger is mostly burnt out.

"Please, Matty, just listen to her." Foggy wonders if Matt can hear the truth in their heartbeats over the phone. It's not something he ever had to wonder, before, but he knows he's never going to get that life back. It doesn't matter. They've already made a big step toward getting the most important part of that life back, the only part that matters: he and Matt need to be talking beyond grunted replies to "Does anything need stitches?"

Foggy continues, "I don't know what Nelson & Murdock is going to look like, going forward, but we have to at least talk about it." When Matt doesn't respond, Foggy's voice cracks on, "Please."

Matt's end of the phone is silent except for an echo of what may be the wind. He doesn't hang up, so Foggy doesn't either. After a long stretch, Foggy buries his face in his hands. He thought he'd cried all the tears he'd ever cry over this man, but no. No, he hadn't. 

Several minutes into the silence, Foggy weeping openly and Karen, silently, they both startle at a sudden sound. 

"Nelson & Murdock," comes a voice that is loud and clear, strangely doubled. 

A chill washes over Foggy, a little puff of the night breeze slipping around a silhouette in the open window: the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He's crouched, tense and somehow small. 

Karen's breath catches in her throat around a gasp. Foggy's hands clench into fists, unbidden. He's got a visceral response to that black outfit, the terrible improvised mask. He still has some capacity for anger, he realizes. He hates the costume, hates the way it fits every inch of Matt's body. But how could he ever think he hated the man the costume hides? It... protects. 

The Devil shifts his weight, legs curled on his windowsill perch. He is facing their direction, tension in every muscle. His gaze doesn't quite land on either of them.

Foggy is the first to break the silence. "Yea. Yea, buddy. Nelson & Murdock need to have a talk. Or, rather, Nelson, Murdock & Page." He ends the call to have something to do with his hands.

The Devil doesn't drop down from his position, but he shifts his attention to Karen. It's a small readjustment that somehow encompasses his whole body; everything angles toward her. The movement rings utterly familiar and Foggy hates the costume even more.

"May I come in?" The Devil of Hell's Kitchen asks Karen Page. She's rubbing her palms over her bare upper arms, smothering down goosebumps. 

She nods. Then, when he doesn't move, "Yea, of course."

His nod is curt. He steps down, lithe and silent, shutting the window in the same motion. It would be graceful but Foggy notices him favoring his right hand. His left hand remains clenched around his abdomen. 

"Wait," Karen interrupts when the Devil turns back toward them. He stills and she approaches. 

Karen reaches up slowly, telegraphing her movement. "We want to talk to Matt," she says, holding her hands in the air to frame either side of his face.

"You are. He--" His mouth pulls as he grimaces, swallows, and starts again. "The Devil. This is me. We're the same person."

That's difficult for Foggy to accept. He's working on it.

"Okay," Karen agrees, so easy. "But can we see your face?"

After a long frozen moment, the Devil nods stiffly. Karen lifts his mask.

It's Matt. They both already knew that. But somehow, by coming to the warm light of her kitchen at 4:16 in the morning, bruised but still so effortlessly efficient, strong and silent but also somehow cowed, it hits them all over again. This is real. They called for the Devil, and He arrived with their friend's face. 

Matt is frozen, naked before them. 

Karen sets the balled-up mask on the coffee table beside the brown paper bags, the last of the tequila. The mask material is stiff, crusted with dried blood. "Thank you," she says, placing her palm on Matt's cheek and looking into his eyes. They shine with unshed tears.

The restraint in Matt's face melts at Karen's touch. He's still subdued, and guarded, but the sharp persona of the Devil melts off of him like warm wax. His nose and brow are mottled with overlapping dark bruises.

Foggy stands, approaches a few steps around the table. "You look like shit, buddy." He almost manages not to choke on the words. "I'd offer you a drink but Kare and I have just recently sworn off alcohol."

Matt turns his face toward Foggy on instinct, but then lets it fall to the floor. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. It's the voice of a lost 10-year-old.

"Yea, no, get over here and say it to my face." Foggy opens his arms as Matt creeps forward. He envelops Matt in a hug, fierce and tight and maybe just a little bit teary-eyed. Matt startles at the hug for a split second, and then collapses into Foggy, going limp as the iron of guilt leaks from his bones. 

Karen smiles and pulls out a chair so Matt can sit. She knows he doesn't need her to do it, but she does it anyway. The little things are what will get them through this.

**Author's Note:**

> For Daredevil bingo prompt "devil in the details"


End file.
